I'm Not Sick!
by RoadkillHermes
Summary: Holmes comes down with the flu while investigating a case and fails to admit that even he is human. Friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm Not Sick!**

_I would like to dedicate this story to two very special people. First, to Rena Anne A Dale Holmes for being an awesome person and friend. You're a great writer so don't stop now! Second, to oLabyrintho for everything she has done for me. These are the two best little sisters a big sister could hope to adopt. I love you guys!_

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I was miserable. Not only had I just spent the entire night and a good portion of the morning scouting London for my targets next possible hit but, as fortune would have it, she decided to make me her fool and unleash one of the worst storms London had seen in years. By the time I arrived back at 221B Baker St. I was drenched to the bone. It had started raining a little while after I had left to do my recon and, as of now, showed no signs of letting up.

I opened the door and stepped into the blessed warmth that waited for me. So relieved I was to be out of the rain that I stood in front of the now closed door for a good two minutes as I felt the warmth return to my body and seep through my bones.

I closed my eyes and listened to the activity of the house. I could hear Nanny in the kitchen doubtlessly making something warm to fill both Watson and my gullets. Overhead I heard the creaking of Watson in his office. A second heavier creaking told me he was with a patient. Now my focus was drawn to a small sound that seemed to be originating from me. It sounded like the smallest of thuds hitting the carpet around me. Realizing what it is I snap my eyes open to find a small puddle of rainwater forming around me.

Not wanting to get caught by Nanny and given one of her 'lectures' I beat a hasty retreat up the stairs. I stopped by the bathroom to grab a towel before locking myself into my room. My clothes are so wet that they have become a second skin. I set about the task of peeling off my clothes and drying myself off. When I'm finally dry and in warm clean clothes, I set myself back on my bed. Wanting nothing more than to crawl under my covers and sleep of a month, I know I have work to do.

So again tuning myself into the sounds of the house. Watson still with his patient and judging by the length of time and tone of their voices, he was seeing the hypochondriac. I swear the man thinks he has the black plague and every time he develops a new symptom comes running to Watson and Watson being, well Watson, never turns him away. The rest of the Watson's colleague doctors refuse to see the poor wretch and when once I broached the subject about Watson seeing him, he gently reminded me that everyone gets sick. That's what makes him such a great doctor, and such a great friend.

I listen for Nanny and hope that she has not come out to investigate my reappearance. Since I don't hear any yelling I take that as a good sign and decide that it's safe for me to make a run for my study.

I open the door a creak and peak out. The door to Watson's office is closed. As sly as a panther I slide out of my room, down the hall, and into my study closing the door without so much as a sound. Now that that is over with I need to start a fire as it is freezing in here.

Just as I'm getting up from doing said job a strange thing happens. My nose starts to tickle. I try my hardest to ignore it, but it keeps growing. Suddenly I erupt into a sneezing fit. By the time it stops I notice that the voices in the other room have become quite. Damn! Now Watson will think I'm sick or something. Just as I hear his office door open, a rather loud set of footsteps starts up the stairs. I let out a huge groan. I am going to get an earful from both of them! But my disappointment quickly disappears as I'm seized with another sneezing fit. When I regain my composer I realizes that the footsteps have stopped and been replaced by voices. Oh great, Watson must REALLY think I'm sick to stop Nanny while is on the warpath. I am not sick. I refuse to be sick. A cough catches me unaware. It's a deep bone rattling cough that can only mean I'm sick. But I am not sick! I refuse to be sick!

My study door flies open and frames, in the doorway, a rather peeved looking Watson. "You're sick." He states. "Well hello to you too Watson. How are you? I've had a rather long night working on our case. You remember our case? The one about the thieves who seem to be striking at random places all around London? Of course you do." I state with just a bit too much condescension in my voice. Again, fate decides to make fun of me and sends another sneezing fit just as I finish. Watson, still framed by the door, repeats more testily "You're sick." To which I reply even more strongly, "No I'm not." Even I roll my eyes at such childish behavior. But I continue, "Its just allergies." Watson finally walks in and closes the door. "Allergies? Since when are you allergic to anything?" He asks. I glance around the room quickly trying to think of something that could possibly be an annoyance to my sinus, when my eyes fall on Gladstone. "Gladstone." I state rather proudly. Watsons eyes widen as he takes a long look at me than gazes at the dog. "Gladstone?" He asks, not believing me for a minute. "Yes." I say. "I have been allergic to him for quite sometime but didn't want to say anything because I know how much you love him." The dog, perhaps sensing it is now the center of attention, sits up and stares at me. "Really?" Asks Watson flatly. "Yes." I reply adamantly. "And the cough?" He asks, looking over his glasses. " I, uh, swallowed a bug." His stare could have frozen the devil in place. Not knowing what else to do I look at Gladstone. Even he seems to be smirking at me. I glare at him till he flops back onto his side, only to return to Watson's stare. "You're sick." He once again states quietly. "No, I'm not." I state rather annoyed. As luck would have it Watsons patient sticks his head inside the studies door to inform Watson that he now has sneezes and coughing to add to his list. With his back to the man he rolls his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of annoyance. He puts a smile on his face and turns around to take the man back to his office.

I look at Gladstone and say, "I'm not sick." He yawns. I head over to the couch to do some 'thinking'. When I arrive I quickly flop down and start to fall asleep, only to be awoken by a coughing fit. "Bloody Hell" I mumble to Gladstone. "I'm sick."

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_Well that's it for this chapter! Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed my story. I hope you like the second chapter! _

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Gladstone huffed at me for admitting my weakness to him. Hopefully Watson was too busy with his patient to have heard my little outburst. 'This is going to be fun' I thought. I still have to figure out what the thieves were up to and what all the places they had robbed had in common.

I abandon my position on the couch to set up all the evidence I have on the floor. While retrieving my notebooks and papers and preparing to spread them out on the floor, I hear Watson's office door open and heavy footsteps leave. Now that his patient has left the mother hen should be showing up any second now. Right on cue the door to my study opens and a very harried looking Watson stands in the door. "So does he have the plague?" I ask nonchalantly. The glare that he sends my way has me ducking under the pretense of picking up a notebook.

Straightening up, arms filled with papers and notebooks, I glance at Watson. Just as I'm about to make some witty remark my nose starts to tickle. My eyes go wide because I know what is coming. Watson's eyes go big because he probably thinks I'm about to keel over. He runs into the room, arms outstretched ready to catch me. Just as he reaches me I let out the longest, loudest, and most relieving sneeze. I make a grab for my nose, sending the objects in my arms hither and fro, afraid that my nose might fly off from the force of such a blast.

When I finally open my eyes I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. For right in front of me stands Watson. An open notebook comically perched on top of his head, glasses are covered in spit and mucus while his eyes behind them are clamped firmly shut. His outstretched arms are now littered with my papers and notebooks. "Holmes," Watson says in a very tired voice with his eyes still clamped firmly shut, "Cover your mouth next time."

Trying to remedy the situation I start picking the papers and notebooks off my friend. He slowly opens his eyes to glare at me. It might have worked had his spectacles not been in the state, which they are now. Being sure to keep my mouth tightly shut I offer him a handkerchief off of one of my tables. He eyes the stained offering. Finally, he moves. Papers and books clatter to the ground as he removes his glass and produces his own piece of cloth. While cleaning his spectacles he once again asks me, "Still not sick?" "Nope." I reply with just a twinge of hurt pride. Gladstone chooses that moment to let out a huge puff of air. I start cataloging all the experiments needing to be tested.

I return my attention to Watson as he starts to pick up my scattered things having finished the task of cleaning his glasses. I discard the proffered handkerchief and stoop to help Watson. I find out this was not the smartest idea as I nearly plant my face right into the carpet. Luckily Watson is standing close enough to stop me from doing any real damage to myself. Not saying a word, my trusted friend helps me to set myself down in the ocean of paper.

He does not accuse me this time, instead he returns to the task of picking up my scattered papers. "What no questions?" I can't resist asking. "No. You already answered my question" Watson replies still picking things up. "I'm not sick." I say with steel in my voice. Gladstone once again lets out a puff of air and I swear he is mocking me. I rearrange some more of the experiments for testing in my head. "Holmes, tell yourself whatever you like, but don't forget you are talking to a doctor." Watson informs me. I sigh, my secret is out and there is nothing I can do about it. Still, I will not admit it out loud. Watson dumps the collected papers into my lap and within minutes I have everything I need. I set about laying all my notes into a controlled mess around me. Nobody but myself could make sense of it. Watson retreats to his chair content to watch over me. Ignoring him I immerse myself in the case.

All the robberies had taken place during the night. They never hit the same type of store twice and judging but the footprints there are at least four. But what does it all mean? I turn to the places that had been robbed. So far a blacksmith, a pawnshop, a high-end jewelry store, and a bakery had been broken into. Of all the places that were robbed the last place was the most confusing. From the blacksmith four rods of iron had been taken. The pawnshop had lost a list of names, while the jewelry store had only had four unusual rings lifted. Of all the places the bakery had been hit the hardest. Five hundred loaves of bread had disappeared.

The only thing that linked the robberies was the method in which they were carried out. All of the buildings are two stories tall with the owner living above. The four-man team picked a place and then got to work. One very agile and quick robber would scale the side of the building to arrive at the roof. Than he would do one of the most daring moves I've heard of. He entered the owner's room. One little creak and he would be caught, but he never was. Quite as death he would then steal down the stairs to the shop. He opened the door for his friends and all would set to work. When done the thieves slip out the front door leaving behind quite the shock for the owner to discover when they went to work.

Now I just need to figure out what they all have in common. The blacksmith informed me that the iron rods that had been taken were commonly used to make swords. But why steal swords? Why not pistols, or rifles? The list from the pawnshop had turned something up. The four rings that had been stolen from the jewelry store had first been sold to the pawnshop. When the person who had sold them failed to return for them the owner had sold them for twice there worth to jewelry shop owner. He told me he bought them because of there uniqueness. He liked not because of the jewels, for there were none on them, but for the symbols etched into them. On one was carved a bow, another a sword, the third a set of scales, and the fourth bore a scythe. The symbols had seemed so familiar but I could not put my finger on it. As for the bread, it was enough to feed a small army or large gang.

That's when it hits me. Lately there had been murders of some of the seedier type in London. The Yard had written it off as low lives killing low lives but my revelation with the symbols may change that. The bow, the sword, the scales, the scythe, they are the symbols of the four horsemen. Rumors had been flying around London that a gang calling themselves the Horsemen had vowed to kill the corrupt of London. I should have put this together earlier but my mind had been idled by illness. They stole the iron to make themselves swords. The rings denoted who were which Horsemen and the bread was for their rapidly growing gang.

Now that I had figured out what they had in common I needed to deduce their next move. Like a boxer taking a right hook it hit me, horses! They needed to steal horses. But not just any horse. The horseman that bore the bow rode a white horse, while the one wielding the sword rode a red one. The one with the scales sat upon a black steed and a pale horse rounds out the fourth. Now all I have to do is tell Watson my findings.

I shoot up from the floor on pure adrenaline, but that's were it stops. Looking at Watson my eyes go wide. Watson cringes probably thinking I'm about to sneeze my brains out again. My vision goes dark and my last thought as I fall into the waiting darkness is, 'Damn it, this is going to hurt.'

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_Hope you liked it! The only way I can get better is if you review! Thank you!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so much to everyone who read my story! Sorry it took so long to post put life got in the way and well time doth make fools of us all. So here you go! Hope you like it. Please leave me a review when your done.

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I'm floating in darkness and find it most comfortable. I try to remember what happened. All it once it comes flying back to me. Standing in the freezing rain for hours. Catching a, well never mind. I'm sick and Watson can't find out. I realize through the fog of my coalescing conscience that I had made a spectacular nosedive into the carpet right in front of him? He had been too far away to catch me, so I guess that explains the splitting headache that cuts like a saber. Hopefully I didn't break anything important. Hold on, I know for a fact that I landed face down so how is it that I'm now laying on my back? I'm too tired to open my eyes so I do what I do best I start deducing away. I'm lying on something hard so it's safe bet I'm still on the floor of my study. Someone, Watson, was thoughtful enough to prop my head up on a pillow and the coolness I feel on my forehead easing back the pain tells me he put a washcloth on my head.

I'm so comfortable that I start to ease back into the darkness and the waiting sleep when a very big and very wet tongue starts to lick my face. My eyes pop open as if I've just been hit and who else is standing over me than Gladstone my newest volunteer test subject. "Your demise is most imminent." I inform the mischievous canine who has the courage to huff at me. I hear Watson chuckle and turn my head to find him seated next to me on the floor. This turns out to be a bad idea as the pain comes back full force. I pinch my eyes shut and return my head to the center. "Well Holmes, you have a case of the sniffles, a cough that shakes the house, and now a fever. Yep, you sir, are defiantly not sick." All I can do in my weakened state is offer up a glare. Judging by the eye roll I receive it's not working. Not able to convince him I turn my attention towards Gladstone who has taken up residence by my side. "Traitor." I tell him. He looks at me and cocks his head to the side. "You just had to tell him our secret." I swear he breaks out into a smile. Meanwhile Watson has removed the cool cloth from my forehead and lays his hand against the hot skin. Apparently talking to dogs is not a normal conversation one should be holding.

Concerned by what he felt, Watson dips the cloth into a bowl of cool water wrings it out and replaces it on my forehead. He lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Look Holmes. I know you pretty much like to pretend you're not human." I let out a huff much like Gladstone had. He ignores me and forges on ahead. "But even the best detectives get laid low every once in a while by the flu." "First off, I'm not one of the best detectives, I am the best detective. Second, no one can lay Sherlock Holmes low. Not even a microscopic bug!"

This is when my rant ends and a new coughing fit arrives. Watson sits me up and slaps me on the back to help loosen up whatever is in my chest. By the time it's over I'm left feeling very weak. I lean into Watson much as a child leans into his mother. "Let's get you to bed Holmes." Watson offers in a quite voice. I pull away from him and make to stand. My knees don't want to so I sit on the floor and inform him, "I've solved our case." Ignoring what I just said he once again states that I should go to bed. I look at him dumbfounded. This was suppose to be the part were he asks me how I figured it out, who was behind it, but most importantly what our next step is. That was how it had always been and was suppose to be. Instead he wants me to lie down!

"Watson." I try once again. "I have figured it out. They're going to be striking again soon. Maybe tonight!" "Then tell me where they're going to strike and I'll tell the Yard." He's just not getting it. I try once more. "Listen." I start calmly. "You've probably heard of the gang that has been going around calling themselves the Four Horsemen. Well they're the ones behind that latest sting of robberies." This gets him to lift an eyebrow. I continue. "The thefts all have significance to the gang." This gets Watson ears to prick up. Finally, I'm getting through to him.

I explain the whole thing to him. The blacksmith, the pawnshop, the jewelry store, the bakery, but most importantly I tell him about the horses. "So you see," I start to conclude, "they fancy themselves the horsemen of legend. They have a following, all they're missing id their steeds." Watson looks me in the eye. "So all we have to do is the Yard to watch all the horse stables in London." "Don't be ridiculous Watson. There are too many stables for the Yard to watch. Plus we can narrow down the search area. From what we know about they're going to go after something big. Most likely they will go after a carriage company with a two-story building. Also they seem to take pride in the fact that they can slip pass the owner while they are sleeping." Watson nods his approval and makes to stand. "I'll inform the Yard of your findings. But first we are going to get you to bed." I roll my eyes, even though a bed does sound like a wonderful idea right about now.

All this laying on the hard, cold floor has left my back aching and I make to stand. However my knees decide to betray me and I almost end up kissing the carpet again. Luckily Watson catches me this time and I'm saved from further embarrassment. "Slowly, slowly." Seems to become his mantra as he helps me get my feet under me. When I am finally upright and the world has stopped its horrible spin and decided to return to its upright position, I glance out the window. It's completely dark. Startled, I turn to Watson. "How long have I been out?" I demand of my friend. Looking rather sheepish he answers. "Well, you knocked yourself out pretty good. You slept away the whole day."

My mind starts to whirl as reality hits me. The four horsemen could already be making they're move. I pull myself out of Watson's grip and retrieve a map of London from one of my numerous tables. Picking one of my bigger tables I clear it of all it's possessions and spread the map out. I bring up a three-dee map in mind of London's businesses and overlay on the map before me. Quickly I set about the task of sorting and eliminating all non-potential buildings. I am left with four buildings on all four corners of the compass. "These four are the most likely targets." I indicate the buildings to Watson. "Have the Yard take the one to the South and to the East. You take the one to the West and I'll secure the one to the North. Hopefully they haven't made there move yet." I pull away from the table and turn towards the door, that's when my knees decide to stop working and for the second time today Watson keeps me from smashing my face in. "The only move you're going to be making is to bed." He informs me.

I have to get out and go canvas one of the spots but the look on Watson's face tells me that won't be happening anytime soon. I could pitch a fit but it wouldn't help, neither will appealing to his need for justice. He'll just tell me the Yard can take care of it, which of course, they can't. The only option left is escape. But how do I pull it off? It's still pouring rain and Watson would never let me step foot outside the front door, especially with a fever. Then it comes to me. The window that sits on the landing. I have used it many times to sneak out of the house when I didn't want to be seen by people out front. All I have to do is get past Watson, down the stairs, through the window, jump over to the smaller building than down to the ground and I'm home free. All while I'm sick and only wearing pants and a t-shirt. My body is going to kill me, if Watson doesn't get a hold of it first.

I act like Watson's won. I start to leave the study, but he is wary of me as if he knows what's on my mind. I arrive at the door to my study and open it. I step out into the hallway, hand still on the doorknob. Than slower then I would have liked but still faster than my friend I slam the door shut and blot down the stairs to the landing. Watson throws open the door just as I throw open the window. "Holmes!" He bellows as he makes his way toward me. But I'm already out the window and jumping over to the lower building. It groans ominously as I land atop the roof. In the future I shall have to be more careful, I might fall through! My legs and bare feet protest as I hit cobblestone and force them to start running. Watson is yelling at me but I can't make out what he's saying over the pounding rain, so I run. By the time I hit the next alley I'm already soaked to the bone and what little warmth I had is now gone back into the cold air. I try not to think about it as the shadows of the night once again welcome me into they're midst.

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_Don't forget to review! They help me to get the story done faster. ;)_


	4. Chapter 4

I'm Not Sick! Chapter 4

I zigzag through the alleyways of London running as if all the hounds of hell are snapping at my heels. If only they were. I have something much worse chasing me, Watson. In full-blown mother hen mode his surly lanky frame scouring ever inch of London intent on capture of my person and placing me in the dungeon of his study, away from the outside world as if I was in the tower of London, all so that my body may heal. Watson's intentions are for my best, but I know that under that semi-cheerful exterior, he would like nothing more than to take my hide of! My feet are starting to hurt now and my legs ache so bad I think their going to fall off. I pull up short when another coughing fit steals away the rest of my breath away. I stand in the rain coughing up a lung for a good two minutes. By the time it's over I feel even weaker than before, if that's at all possible. I can't allow myself to think about it, instead I turn my mind towards the task of procuring new clothing, seeing as the ones I'm wearing are nothing more than a sticky second skin.

I know just where to go. The pub that holds fights in its basement has allowed me to borrow a room after a fight. I had left some tattered clothing and, hopefully a pair of shoes, and maybe just maybe, a jacket to top it all off. With thoughts of warmth now playing in my head I adjust my course to lead me to said pub.

I make it without further incidents and let myself in. The bartender takes one look at me and nods at the stairs. By the time I arrive at my room I'm shaking so hard that the room is moving. I go to work looking for any and all clothing that can be found. I find three tattered shirts that, put together, make one serviceable shirt. I also find stashed away two pairs of pants, one pair of shoes (thanks be to all the various deities people, other than me, believe in) and what's this? One of Watson's old cloaks is bunched up in one of the corners. He must have tossed it over there after one of the more serious fights had literally left me in stitches. Once again I shed my sodden clothes and put on everything I've found. Ah, warmth. How I missed thee. I button up the cloak and glance at my old clothes. They look like I decided to take a swim in the Thames.

Now warm and prepared for the weather outside I head for the door. The shoes soothe my aching feet and I let out a sigh of content just as I open the door. I come up short as there, standing in the doorway, is Watson. Glaring at me with all the venom of a snake about to strike. I take this in stride and say, "Welcome Watson! You're just in time to help me catch the four horsemen." His glare doesn't let up. Not liking the silence I decide to fill it. "So which one shall we search first? You may pick if you so wish." To this he replies, "The only searching you're going to be doing is for a bed!" I do not back down from his challenge. "Watson even if I was sick, which I am most certainly not, we have more important things to take care of then worrying about a small bug!" "Do you know what that 'little bug' could do?" He inquires. " It could go straight to your lungs and make you very sick! I'm talking about you being laid up for months!" "Watson don't be so dramatic. All I have is a tiny cough and the sniffles." "What about the fever?" he inquired "It was uncommonly warm in the room and my body picked up same extra heat" I replied. "That's not how it works Holmes!" Not backing down I looked him straight in the eye (at least as best I could!) "Look Watson we have to stop these people soon. If they really do fancy themselves the Horsemen of legend then it won't be long till we have murders start popping up that I could have stopped!" Watson rose up on his toes "Don't raise your voice at me Holmes! The Yard can take care of it! It is their job you know!" "Oh please. The Yard couldn't catch Gladstone if he ran away!" I lied. At this I hear a familiar huff of air. I look down and saw a familiar face. "You brought Gladstone!" "Yes. He is very good at finding sick people." Watson replied with an air of pompousness "Then he should have taken you to a hospital!" I said, smiling as the tired Gladstone plopped down at my feet. "Stop being so grumpy. I've come to take you home and that's final!" Watson stated with a firmness of a constable arresting a pickpocket or dunkard on the street. "I'm sorry Watson but I have to see this case through. Now remove yourself." I stated as I moved toward the door, he stood fast. Great, looks like I'm going to have to give him the slip again.

He blocks the doorway with his body, but I see an opening. I feint right; I feint left and then charge him straight on. This throws him off guard and he raises his arms to stop me. Just before I reach his outstretched hands I roll towards his weaker side and slide past. I'm down the stairs and out the door before he knows what's happened. Running down the street I hear heavy breathing that isn't my own. I turn my head around making sure that Watson isn't trying to follow me. None other than Gladstone is chasing me, or trying to. I smirk and pick up some speed. It's not long till he gives up the chase, fancying a carriage ride over having to use his stubby legs.

I don't slow down till I've put a few alleyways between Watson and me. I duck into an alcove to formulate a plan. I can no longer go to the Northern stables, as Watson will be expecting me there. I'm closest to the Eastern stables so that shall be my new destination. I strike out into the freezing rain with more protection against the rain and cold. I take alleys and side streets to make it harder for Watson to find me.

What would I do if I had picked the right place and discovered the Four Horsemen? As I move I come up with a plan in case I encounter them. I go over their usual plan of attack once again. One slips in through the upstairs window, comes down and lets the other three in the front door. The best time to catch them will be while they are all in the house. All I have to do is slip in behind them and shadow them around the stable. All I need to do is lure them into a small enclosed place and lock the in. Not the most thoroughly thought out plan but it would have to do. I try fine-tuning the plan, if it can be called that, as there is no room for error.

My mind comes back to the here and now as I realize that I'm closing in on the target house. I find an overhang that's hidden in the shadows but offers up a great view of the target. I wait an interminable amount of time till my hands and feet go numb. Just when I'm about to try and stamp some feeling back into my limbs I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I flatten myself up against the building as a single file line of four men come around the house. The first two in the line are built like fighters. Thick shoulders, barrel chests and pretty much geared toward taking people down. The third man in this stranger parade is tall and lanky. He looks like he would be at home in the circus. The last man in the procession is of average height and build. He is the kind of person your eyes slide right over as through he did not exist. Because of this I pay very close attention to him. He will be the one to watch. Looking at the unusual group, if I had to guess the average man is more than likely the leader. The two that brought up the front were the muscle. The third one was probably the one who scaled the buildings and let the others in. As for the fourth he had no muscle or strength that I could see, but he did have he bearing of one who knows more than he's letting on.

I name them according to the order of the rings. The first two were Bow and Sword. The third I dub Scales. As for the fourth he is Scythe. I watch as they group together in front of the house. As I had predicted Scythe does most of the talking. The rest nod and listen. After a bit Scales breaks from the group and starts his journey to the roof. I watch in amazement as he conquers the side of the building, finding purchase and handholds where others would have only found air. He hits the roof and crouches so low he is almost crawling on his stomach. With stealth borne of practiced skill he makes it to the window and opens it without a sound, suddenly disappearing into the darkness. Moments later the front door opens with a narrow crack of light and the three that wait outside head in. I run through the plan one more time, take a deep breath and prepare to slip out.

Just as I'm about to leave the protection of the overhang a hand clamps down on my shoulder. My normal reaction would be to strike backwards with my elbow leaving my attacker winded. Then I'd spin break the offending arm driving my attacker to the ground. I would end with a solid right hook to the side of the head leaving the attacker unconscious. That's what I normal would do, but my fever idled brain can only handle spinning around. I almost make it all the way around when my knees give out. Luckily someone grasps me under my armpits allowing me to regain my footing. My fever must be going up because I am genuinely surprised when Watson steps in my field of vision.

His hand finds my forehead and look of concern passes across his face. "Time to stop playing Sherlock." Oh dear, he must be mad, he used my christen name. But I must get into that house and stop the Four Horsemen. I push away from Watson. He knows what's coming and takes a defensive stance. He's ready to block me. Once again, I feint right, I feint left, and then I faint.


	5. Chapter 5

_Well, here it is! Chapter 5! Sorry it took so long but hopefully 6 won't give me as much trouble. Thanks to everyone who read and a big thanks to those how reviewed! I won't keep you any longer just please leave a review! : D_

Once again I find myself floating in darkness and I can't help but feel a little annoyed. Twice today I have been made the fool by fainting in front of Watson. I can only hope that this time he caught me since cobblestone and faces don't mix well. If my lack of sore nose is anything to go by then I'd say it safe to venture that he did. Consciousness once again seeps back to me, vague sounds slowly forming but yet I find myself deciding to stay in the comforting darkness when a cold hand touches my forehead and almost sends me through the roof. Eyes forcefully open glaring daggers at my intruder. What ogre has forced me back to this world? None other than my "faithful" friend and companion-Watson. I can't help the words that come out of my lips. "You're demise is most imminent." A smile cracks his weary face, as he no doubt remembers the same threat I gave to Gladstone. "Holmes it does me good to see you're finally back among the land of the living." Watson intones. I give him a puzzled look and turn my head to see out the window. This turns out to be a very bad idea as sunlight stabs my fragile eyes. I quickly close my tortured eyes and turn away before I empty the meager contents of my stomach onto poor Watson. He let's a deep bone weary sigh escape and begins to explain. "You've been asleep for almost two days. Your fever has raged almost unchecked and, to top it all off, I've had to beat Scotland Yard off with a stick!"

My memory is full of holes; pit falls of misunderstanding everywhere I turn. Watson reads the dilemma on my face because he starts to fill in some of the blanks. "Turns out you were right about the Four Horsemen" he says somberly. With that a spark flares in my memory. It races backwards and illuminates the darkness. It all comes back, the Horsemen, the thefts, and the most recent break-in. Anguish rises within me. What happened while I was asleep? Did they get away? How far behind them am I?

Watson, upon seeing my reaction changes tact's. "Time for your medicine!" He informs me much like a nanny to a young charge. As if my day isn't bad enough now he wants to shove some foul tasting liquid down my gullet. Well, I'm not going to stand for it! I retreat under my covers for protection from my adversary. He advances, and has no problem throwing off my protection. He is balancing a teaspoon of vileness in one hand and my protection in the other. Doctor Death once again starts his advance and this time I clamp my mouth shut tight drawing in air through my nose. Watson pulls up short when he sees my childish attempt to ward him off. "Holmes, now look here my good fellow" he informs me. "This hasn't worked in the past, what on Earth makes you think it will work now?" Rolling his eyes he clamps his free hand over my nose. I crack a small space at the back of my mouth to keep myself alive. Catching on quickly he soon gives up the tact. Without opening my mouth I crack a wide grin. Unbeknownst to me this is the opening he has been waiting for. With free hand he grasps my jaw were it hinges and, with great dexterity I have not seen before, opens my mouth and inserts the medicine. Before I have a chance to spit it, however, the offending spoon is removed and my mouth is once again clamped shut with a new addition. Watson's hand firmly clamped over my mouth. It's ok I can wait him out. Or so I think till his other hand closes off my only means of breathing. Now, I'm left with a choice, either shallow the foul liquid or die from lack of oxygen. I choose the first option and with it shallow my pride. I glare at Watson as he puts his instruments of torture away, hearing his slight chuckle of amusement.

But he can't distract me for long and once again I find my mind turning to the problem of the Four Horsemen. "Did they catch them?" I ask Watson's back. His shoulders straighten and his movements become stiff. If he had fur it would have bristled. This is all the answer I need. "What happened?" I demand. Watson snaps around, a strange look in his eyes I have not seen before. "What happened?" He snaps, like an alligator catching it's prey. "What happened was you fainted, became dead to the world, however you wish to say it! I caught you and as I was taking care of you they waltzed right out with the horses. That's what happened!"

I'm taking aback. I had never seen this side of Watson before. So they got away with the horses. It's no reason to bark at me. Unless… "The murders have started, haven't they." I inquire calmly, letting my friend's outburst roll off my back like water on a duck. His demeanor completely changes. His face falls almost as fast as the Roman Empire did in its final days. His shoulder's slump and it seems like he's falling into himself. That's when it hits me; he's blaming himself for the murders. I should have realized this sooner.

Of course he would blame himself, when people start dying, being the innocent's or criminals that he thinks he could of stopped the murderers. I search for the right words to say to give comfort to my friend, so instead I decide to tread on ground that I know by heart. "How many murders?" I ask in a soft tone. Watson, knowing me, almost better than I know myself, understands that this is the closest thing to comfort I can offer him. I can't undo the past but I can stop them from taking further lives. He takes the comfort that I can offer and turns on his doctor mode again. Once again he becomes the man I know. "So far, the two days that you've been asleep, three murders have taken place in some of the seeder parts of London." I sigh, three murders in two days? These people mean business. Instead of voicing my concern I say, "Alright. Start from the first murder and take me through the events as they happened. I'm sure you did the autopsies so don't spare any of the details. I need to know everything." With that I start to try and prop myself up and prepare for the story.

As I'm shifting around trying to make myself comfortable, my legs encounter something hard. Levering myself up on elbows I try to see what is blocking my movement, low and behold it is none other than my moving experiment Gladstone. "Well don't let me bother you!" I snap at Gladstone. Stretched out on his side he barely lifts his head in acknowledgement of me. I turn to Watson. "Will you please move your dog before I decide to experiment as to how far a dog can fly". Watson's face turns serious and walks over to me and starts to prop me up with pillows. As he does this he slyly interjects "Oh just leave him Holmes. He had a long couple of days and needs the sleep. By Jove I think he was really concerned about you while you were out." Grumbling but not having the strength to push Gladstone off I finish propping myself before nodding to Watson to start his story.

"Well," Watson starts of slowly, "The first murder actually accorded the same night that you decided to take a brief excursion from reality." A smile lends warmth to his darkened face. I take comfort in this and smile back at him. "It happened in one of the poorer districts surrounding London. A man, to but it simply, lost his head." At that my eyebrows shot skyward. Almost rushing on Watson adds, "We found it." "Well I'm sure that is of great comfort to the man." I can't help but remark. Watson narrows his eyes at my rather uncouth comment and continues. "Like I was saying, we found it two blocks away from the crime scene. The only anomaly in the man's autopsy was the word that was carved into his forehead, 'Murderer'. The Yarder's did some digging and found out that the victim was known to keep 'ladies of the night' as his company. Once he ran out of need for them or he found them lacking in someway he would take them aside and cut their lives short. The world will not mourn his loss but it will want us to find out the culprits."

" The second victim in this tragic group was found the next morning. This one was missing his hands. We didn't have to look far for them as they were stuffed into his pockets. As with the previous victim a word was carved into his forehead, 'Thief'. Once again the Yarder's worked their magic and found that the victim was a petty thief. He had been known to rob from some of the less expensive jewelry stores in town. In short he was a petty thief who just couldn't keep his hands in his pockets." At this I look up my friend with the ghost of a smile on my lips. "Did you just make a joke Watson?", realizing what he had said, he turned a must deep shade of red and picked up a stammer. The ghost became a full-blown smile. Watson forged ahead.

" The, um, last, ah, victim was found, ah, just yesterday. He, well uh, he had the word 'Deceiver' carved into his forehead." He stopped and showed no sign of continuing. "What was he missing?" I prompted my friend. Watson shifted uncomfortably. This was quite unusual for him raising my natural instincts. I prick my ears up, as he finally, all be it slowly, answers my question. "He, uh, is missing his tongue." Once again my eyebrows go to meet the sky. "IS missing his tongue?" I inquire. "The Yarder's have yet to find the missing appendage. As for his background, it was found that he was known to spread rumors to his advantage. He would turn gangs on each other and even on themselves! He reaped the benefits while others died." As Watson dropped into silence I retreated into my thoughts.

Not only were they murdering, but also they seemed to think they were doing the world a service by uncovering foul deeds and then playing judge, jury, and most importantly executioner. Either these psychopaths are very deranged, not unlikely, or there is someone lurking the shadows, boosting their confidence. My guess, it's probably both. It would make sense that someone else is behind them, feeding them information, giving them confidence that they might have otherwise lacked. Usually murderers don't change their behavior so quickly. They start where they feel comfortable. Pick a place that suits them, somewhere were they can feel safe enough to kill and not be caught. Also they usually use the cover the darkness to hide them. Once they have begun to become comfortable, almost bored with their killing episodes then they tend to move on to more daring prey. But to only kill one in darkness and then take to broad daylight? Someone must be pushing them onward; accelerating the normal timeline serial killers tend to follow. They have to be stopped, now. Before they have a chance to show London the true terror I know they are planning to unleash.

**Before I can voice my concerns to Watson a knock at the door shakes us both. The door creaks it's greeting as it unveils none other than Lestrade. The look he bears tells me everything. The toll is now at four.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey everybody! Sorry I haven't updated for a while, lots have been going on. My muse left me for a bit, I had to go to the hospital and we got a new doggy! So I am very busy now trying to train her, but good news! My muse came back and is running my life! This chapter is much shorter than the rest but I liked where it ends and I wanted to give you all something to know I'm not dead! Hope you like it! Much love and please review! Roadkill_

I'm riding in a carriage with Watson on the way to the fourth crime scene trying not to let Watson know how uncomfortable I really am. It had taken great effort, a performance worthy of Shakespeare and almost a whole bottle of his wretched poison before convincing him to give me leave of my bed.

Lastrade had brought to us the news we all had been dreading. A fourth victim had been found, this time in the middle class section of London. I must say I was pleasantly surprised when Lastrade informed me that the scene had not been touched. I could not discern if it was because they, for once had acted competently, or because they were too afraid to find out what the word 'false witness' entailed. This actually improved my physical disposition and I leaped from the bed intent at leaving in great haste for the crime scene. But I found myself face-to-face with the Rock of Gibraltar in human form – Watson, glaring at me steadfastly refusing my effort. Arguing ensued, thankfully Lastrade was on my side. Words were exchanged almost as fast as someone passes guilt, a bottle was brought out and, much to my shame, Watson ended up with a black eye in the ensuing struggle. Ultimately Watson, with Lastrade pinning my arms to my sides, poured the wretched elixir down my throat and with a strong admonishment actually tried to force me back to my bed. With great resolve and physical effort I was actually able to give a credible performance demonstrating that I was better, even if my dear friend had just forced me to imbibe in his unpleasant medicine. Finally, a carriage was called as Watson glared at me with his good eye, good fellow he is my dear friend is not as agile as I and I smiled at his glowering form as he nursed his injury.

Watson turns toward the window so he doesn't have to look at me. I try to mend the bridge I broke by asking a question. "Remind me once more." I start off slowly, "Why we are bringing Gladstone?" The object of the conversation looks up at me from his resting place beside Watson. Watson turns to me slowly and smiles a wicked smile. "To insure that you don't try to run off again. He has my permission to bite you if you do anything more than examine the body and scene." The half closed black eye lending a comical air to the conversation.

Thankfully we arrive at the scene and upon stepping out of the carriage I take a second to reign in my rebellious stomach before turning toward the nearest Yarder. "Well, my good fellow, lead us on." My former sudden wellness due to the rush of excitement had suddenly left my body and I now found my head was again killing me, my nose won't stop running, I'm sweating and freezing at the same time as my fever was once again upon me. I cannot allow Watson to discover my sudden relapse, as he would cut short our excursion. Above all I'm a detective and the case must come first. That having been said, I nearly collapse when I turn to follow the Yarder. Thankfully Watson is at my side and keeps me from tipping over. He makes a disapproving sound before latching his hand on my elbow and 'helping' me towards the scene. The outward display of weakness left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Pushing a little harder then was necessary, I disengage from Watson and make it to the body without further incident. I kneel next to the body and start to examine for the cause of death. Nothing of prominence was noted, so I focus on his face. In the dim light, the word was carved in the forehead, a grim statement to the world that this man had sinned and been taken down by those believing themselves to be doing the world justice. I notice the eyes don't look right. The lids were closed but the bump that was should be present was missing. Indeed, they seemed to dip inward. I know what this means before I even lift the lid but I have to show the Yarders their error. A moist black hole stares at me where once an eye had been. One of the newer Yarders heaved the contents of his stomach at the grisly sight onto the cobblestones. The stench and the black hole that stares at me final takes its toll on my weakened state.

Without drawing attention to myself I slowly rise and make my way into a side alley as if I was onto something and race away (albeit rather wobbly) but in actuality I am looking for a place to rest my suddenly weary body out of the sight of the Yarders and Watson and to hold back my own nausea. I let my body rest for a minute bent over and almost faint from the minor exertion before pushing myself up and straighten my clothes so that Watson won't notice when a sound at the end of the alley commands my attention. It's not coming from the way of the crime scene so it's not Watson. I hear it again, slightly louder now sounding like hoof beats on cobblestones. I slowly turn around and before me sits one of the Four Horsemen in all his glory.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey everyone! I'm ALVIE! Sorry about the delay but I hope this makes up for it! Please read and review. Thank You!_

The scene that is playing out before my eyes seems to have been ripped from the pages of a book. The Horsemen sits tall in the saddle. He's the tall one of the group, the one that had scaled the buildings. The horse he sits upon is a monster. As black as sin and taller then a normal carriage horse. It's head is arched toward the ground, sweat dripping down its elegant form seems to make it's muscles all but jump out from under it's skin. Steam raises from its nostrils as its sharp hooves paw the earth, yearning to be let loose, to run to the ends of the earth instead of having to sit with a rider on its back. The man holds the reins loose in one hand seeming to take no notice of the powerful beast that sits beneath him. In the other hand he holds a deadly looking sword, pointed toward the ground. He sits there, eyeing me with all the contempt in the world.

Still weak, the wall currently lending me it's strength, I know I'm no match for this terrible apparition. Help is too far away to hear me so I take the only option left open to me, I bluff. I push away from the wall and stand in the middle of the alley. Pulling myself up to my full height and squaring my shoulders, while trying not to fall over, I summon all the strength that I have and put it into my voice. The result is a booming commanding voice that I can hardly believe belongs to me. "You are under arrest for the murders of" and that's as far as I get before a wheezing choking laughter finds it's way to my ears. All the strength leaves me and I feel like a rabbit must feel as it sees the jaws of the wolf about to snap shut. He called my bluff. I dare not turn my back on this killer for he surly would have no problem striking me down from the back. Thoughts race through my head. I'm brought back to the here and now when the monster rears backwards and cleaves the air with its deadly hooves. The man raises the sword above his head, ready to bring it down in a killing arch. Sparks fly as the steel shoes of the horse strike the cobblestones as they attack. Closing the distance far more rapidly then I expected, my mind raced calculating the distance and speed that I had to make good my defense. Ah, but I find when confronted with 2,000 lbs of charging horse I barely have time to jump to the side before they are right on top of me.

Seconds, that is what it comes down to mere seconds. I'm darting out the reach of the Horsemen as I see the sword start its deadly arch downward. Straining to gain distance enough to put me out of his reach I start too late and the result rips into me just under the fourth rib and opens a wound a good six inches long. I hit the ground holding my bleeding left side. Looking down I see the crimson stain broadening on my clothing. The man makes it to the end of the alley before wheeling the horse around to once again face me. I lie back as the man starts what he most likely assumes is his final charge. I close my eyes, too hurt to do anything but let the man take my life. The blow doesn't come; instead I hear the horse start to pitch a fit. Focusing my eyes to see whom has come to my rescue? None other than Gladstone, my trusty four-legged companion. From what I can tell through fading consciousness, Gladstone must have nipped one of the horses back legs because the horse is now trying it's hardest to dislodge its rider. The rider drops his sword to the cobblestone with a clatter as he uses both hands to rein the unruly monster under control. He fails however and with a final kick the horse rids itself of its burden. Gaining what little strength I have left, I roll out of the path of the fleeing beast as it runs past me to the other end of the alley trying to get as far from the man as possible. I look back at the horseman and see him slowly picking up the sword, straightening himself whilst all the while keeping his gaze upon me.

He starts toward me with venom in his eyes. A wheezy almost breathless voice reaches me as he advances on me. "I know who you are, you're the famous "Mister" Sherlock Holmes. Tell me my friend, has our work caught your genius attention?" He's mocking me and I don't even care. All I can focus on is the pain that has consumed my left side and the fact that the world is getting darker around the edges. "What no witty, insipid comeback?" He wheezes at me. I look around for Gladstone hoping that perhaps he can save me, but I cannot see my canine savior, for he has hightailed it out of here and I'm left facing death alone. I apologize to Watson in my head and vow that if I make it through this I won't be as stubborn when I catch colds or get myself sliced open. The dark rider stands over me now and I can see the ring that adorns his finger. Scales. My mind laughs at the thought of being killed by the symbol of justice, something I have worked my whole life with passion to protect. "What's the matter detective? Nothing to say before I take your life? Oh well, I never enjoyed the ones that begged for their lives." My instinct to survive kicks in and I strike out taking his legs out from under him. He lands in a heap and for a moment I hope he has impaled himself on his sword. No such luck as he suddenly pulls himself to his full height, venom so thick in his eyes I'm reminded of a snake right before it strikes. He brings the sword up over his head. I manage one last attempt at getting up, but a well-placed kick to my injured side has me reeling on the ground. He smiles and I can see that all his teeth are rotted out. From the color and odor I would guess he is addicted to something, but I don't have time to think about what that could be as his arm swings down.

A loud crack rings through the alley and both the Horsemen and my eyes go wide. However it is the Horsemen who looks down at his chest to find a small dot of blood seeping through his shirt, flowering broadly as it issues from his body. With a final wheezing grunt the man falls over and lies still. My eyes are going in and out of focus but I see a figure running toward me. I try to shuffle away in case it's another Horsemen but a voice freezes me in my tracks. "Don't you dare move!" It's Watson! To my relief I let my body sink into the cobblestones. Before I know it he's by my side and pulling away my coat to get a better look at my wound. He starts cursing under his breath and I figure that it is worse than I thought. "I need a carriage now!" Watson shouts to the end of the alley were my darkening vision picks out a lone figure quickly turning to obey the transformed doctor. He pulls my shirt up gently over the wound and starts to prod the hurt area. I moan and try to shift position but the fire in Watson's eyes tells me I'm not going anywhere. He takes off his coat and puts against the wound. I hiss in objection but he ignores me and removes his belt. He proceeds to sit me up and wrap the belt around me and tightens it to hold the coat in place. Ah, a makeshift pressure bandage, well down good friend. He gently lays me down ,unhappy at how long it's taking for the carriage to arrive he looks at me and orders, "Stay" Before retreating back down the alley. Right, as if I could transport myself away from this place, even then where would I go? Realizing delirium is starting to set in from the blood loss and too tired from the almost continuous assaults upon my body either from sickness or injury I find myself content to wait for said carriage. That is until I look over at my dead foe.

Sticking out of his breast pocket as if to taut me is a slip of paper. Painfully I crawl over to the body and pick out the piece of paper. I unfold it and to my surprise it has a list of names. The first four names are the murder victims. The next name is a name I know. Harry Johnston. A upper-middle class man who runs a pawnshop on the other side of town. Next to his name is a time 12:00. I look at the sun and realize it's almost 11:30. I have to get there before they kill him! Looking around I spy the monster of a horse at the other end of the alley. With the pressure bandage in place I try to get my feet under me. After the third try, and assistance of the alley wall, I make it to my feet. I stumble toward the horse. At first it shies away from me. Making soft sounds I grab the reins and it allows me to touch it. Now the hard part mounting him. I keep making soft reassuring sounds as I go around to his side, whilst inside my head it's a furnace of blazing pain. He stands perfectly still as I place my foot in the stirrup, the sudden compression on my suffered side stabs like a hot blade. I steel myself and without a second thought I swing up into the saddle. I almost fall off the other side as the pain overcomes me. "HOLMES!" I look down the alley to Watson, very red, running toward me. I turn the horse away from him and dig in my heels. The horse bolts forward and before I know it Watson is lost in the maze of alleys. Looks like I'm not going to be keeping the promise I made to myself.

The cold wind in my face brings my senses back and the adrenaline starts to pump through my veins. The pain ebbs away and I'm left feeling better then I have in days, but that is strictly due to the moment, the case is afoot! I realize that I dropped the piece of paper with the names when I mounted the horse. Hopefully that means backup is on the way. I steer the horse to the desired location and stopping my mount, I let myself just be in the moment. I feel the thudding of horse hooves on the cobblestone, feel the wind in my face, and feel the stickiness of my bandage. Watson was going to kill me, as the damage is now worse than previously. I apparently opened the wound, the makeshift bandage had fallen away during my "escape".

I couldn't think about that right now as I round the corner to the street that the pawnshop was on. I nearly came to a stand still as the streets were overflowing with people. I dismounted and bolted for the shop. The doors where wide open but people kept their distance, mostly from curiosity I suppose. Fearing the worst I rounded the corner feebly slowly walking into the shop and came face to face with Harry Johnston. He smiled a beaming smile and asked me something, but I couldn't hear the question over the pounding in my ears. Suddenly the pain was back with vengeance and I doubled over trying to protect my side. An arm looped around my waist and I looked up in confusion to see Watson's blurry face shouting at someone outside of my line of sight. I let him pull me out of the shop and down the street. He was all but carrying me by the time we made it to the carriage. Helping me in then sliding in next to me as the carriage started its bouncy journey home. He examined my wound, redressing the bandage all the while speaking to me. I never did hear a word he said. All that I could hear was thunder of my heart. Slowly I sagged against Watson, who tried to shake me wake. But it was no use the darkness was too inviting and I was too worn out. It welcomed me with open arms.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello everyone! Sorry it took so long but here is the next chapter! Hopefully I answered some questions and raised some new ones! Please leave a review and let me know what needs to be changed or if it's ok. Thank you!  
_

I am in hell. The fires are consuming my left side, stroking, setting it ablaze each time I take a breath. The heat is another dead give away, all this heat with no respite in sight. I'm lying in my agony contemplating the existence of a hell, when suddenly the fires that had been contenting themselves with my left side suddenly spread to my chest and stop my breathing. Raw panic takes over and all thoughts of hell disappear as I fight to pull in life giving air.

My eyes shoot open and whom do I find? None other than my savior and faithful companion Gladstone, looking at me with those baleful eyes that seem to leak pity. I raise my right arm to shoo the thing impeding my breathing. This, however, turns out to be a bad idea as Gladstone takes this as a threatening gesture and uses my left side to leap off of.

Hell strikes back with full force. My eyes gray out and the agony that had been my left side turns into a tempest. I instinctively roll onto my good side and warp my arms around my midsection to try and douse the flames. I realize that my eyes are squeezed closed so hard that tears have started to leak out around the edges. I don't care though; I just want someone to put me out of my misery.

My wish doesn't come true. The tempest threatens to consume me until a soothing hand lays itself on my forehead. It seems to ooze strength lending me its own while I have none. Taking it's offering I turn it towards my side and realize that I haven't taken a breath in a while. Slowly, carefully I let out the air I've been holding. The tempest recedes to fire. I pull in a breath and it recedes further.

I finally get to point where I can pry my eyes open and find Watson kneeling over me. His hand lies gently on my forehead while his mouth is moving. Concern leeks out of his eyes. All I can hear is the thunder that has become my heart. I focus on his mouth and start to hear the mantra that he has been saying to me the whole time I've been in pain.

"Easy Sherlock, your safe now my good fellow. I'm taking care of you. You're going to be alright old chap." I allow my spent body to sink into the mattress and release the death grip I have on my left side. Seeing his opening Watson gently grabs my shoulder and rolls me over onto my back. Quickly his practiced doctor eyes catch the blood that is quickly starting to blossom anew on my bandage. Dully I realize two things. One I'm not wearing a shirt, and two that I must have reopened my wound.

Watson quickly, but gently pulls away the bandage and starts cursing. Quite so, I have reopened the wound. With a look that tells me I have a lecture coming my way, he sets about stopping the bleeding and prepping me for stitches. I lay back and allow him to work.

"Holmes, do you understand the Queens English? If so what happened yesterday? I remember telling you to stay perfectly still." Watson asks while casting me a sidelong glance that lets me know he's starting out easy. Shifting a little and receiving a glare from Watson I decide it would be in my best interest, seeing as how he has the needle and thread, to try and explain myself.

"Well," I start off slow trying to give my racing mind time to collect and organize my thoughts before I try to tackle the question. "After you left I was doing as you told me when I happened to look over at the dead Horsemen and saw this piece of paper sticking out of his pocket."

Watson pulls something out of his bag and fills a syringe with some fluid. Before I can protest he has the needle in my arm and has already depressed the plunger. A satisfied look comes across his face and it makes me wonder what he has just injected into my blood stream.

It does not take long for me to find out. The flames that had licked my side recede to a point were I can move with relatively minor pain, though this earns me a withering glare from Watson. I quite down before he decides to inject me with something to put me to sleep.

The side effects are mild as a soft fog floats into my thoughts, obscuring them and making me lose my place in the story. I lay content in the knowledge that Watson will have me patched up and ready to go in no time. Though I highly know, if he ever lets me out of bed again, that his sight will forever be glued on me.

A cloudy thought crosses my mind, reminding me that I was telling Watson what I had been up to. Not remembering were I had left off I decide to start back at the beginning.

"After you had left me to go find a carriage, I had been perfectly content to lie there till you returned. However my gaze wondered over to the body of our recently deceased Horsemen, skillful shot by the way, and I noticed a piece of paper in his pocket. Naturally I had to find out what the Horsemen was doing with said paper and discovered upon it a list of names."

So engrossed in telling my story was I that I had not noticed Watson had already begun to stitch me up. Ah the miracle of modern medicine. I realize that Watson wants me to talk to take my mind off of what he is doing. Obliging him I continue my story.

"On this slip of parchment I found the names of our four victims. But I was alarmed, however, when I found a fifth name. A name I recognized and knew was still alive and breathing. I knew something had to be done, and at once."

I suck in air as the medicine doesn't quite take the edge of some pain as he stitches a rather deep part. Not wanting him to see the pain I play it off as having run out of air.

He does not believe me however and before he continues he injects me with some more of the 'good stuff'. The fog becomes thicker but the pain is gone. With a sigh I lay my head back and continue my story.

"As I mentioned before, I recognized the last name. You were too far away to call and there was a time next to the name. Figuring it was when they would strike I decided to take action. I borrowed that horse and went to the man's shop. Once I got there he was saying something but I could not hear him. Then you showed up and I woke up with the dog on my chest."

Taking a moment to catch my breath I examine Watson's face. The whole time I had been telling the story he had been stitching me up. He didn't really react except for the parts were I mentioned the man's name and walking into his shop. He tensed up and now he was stiffly finishing his work.

Sighing he tied off the end and cut the thread. Putting a fresh bandage over the wound he carefully taped it down. Something is bothering him, it was written all over his face. Before I have to ask he starts to explain.

"Holmes, I came back just in time to see you wheel the horse around and race away down the alley. I ran to where you had been not quite believing what I had just seen. There I found my makeshift bandage and the scrap of paper. Looking it over I came to the same conclusion as you. I raced to the store and found you pale as the moon, barely standing, staring at the man, as he asked if he could help you, as if he was speaking another language. I got you to the carriage were you promptly passed out and brought you home."

I look at him confused. "But the man's name was on the paper. They were going to kill him! He should have been dead by the time I got there."

Watson sighs. "It seems that this goes deeper than just the four horsemen and their gang. After being startled by a half dead detective in his store, the man offered us a reason as to why his name was on the list. He has been picking up scrapes of paper like that one from an alley close by. Believing it to be some higher power giving him instructions he followed what the papers said."

I sigh. Things always get more complicated when people believe they have been chosen by some higher power. "Do we at least know who is behind this?" I ask.

Watson shakes his head confirming my suspicions. Things have just become a lot more complicated.


	9. Chapter 9

_HELLO! Sorry this took so long but I kinda got bummed out when I only had 4 reviews on my last chapter. My muse decided to hide under the couch and it wasn't until I offered him some peanut butter that he finally came out. Well I hope you enjoy and don't forget to leave a review! More reviews equal happy muse. :-)_

I'm in a dark alley, and I cannot for the life of me remember how I got here.

The shadows are playing tricks on my already confused mind. I see in them the faces of the dead and damned. I see the faces of the Horsemen, sneering at me laughing, knowing that they have won the game, all of this while the world spins around me.

I try my hardest to remember how I got here, but all I can bring up is cold and fire. Cold and fire? Yes, yes, the cold driving rain and the fire that is my side. But it's not raining and my side, while it feels likes it's on fire, is perfectly fine.

The shadows warp and I'm suddenly looking at Watson's face. He's face is pulled tight with concern and he's calling my name. I stare at this new apparition when suddenly, behind I hear the pitched sound of horse hooves striking cobblestone.

I whirl trying to see who is following me, but before I can locate the source I discover that more hooves strike cobblestone from a new direction. They are coming at us from all sides. A deep raw panic that I never knew lay inside bubbles to the surface. On instinct alone I turn on my heels and start to run.

The hoof beats become faster as they start to catch up with me. My legs pump as hard as they can. The alleyway is endless, it stretches on forever, and there are no turns, no dead ends, just a continuous line surrounded by walls.

I throw a glance backwards trying to find my pursuers. Instead I notice the walls, the walls are shifting, changing into face. The people who the Horsemen have killed they start to appear on the walls. I turn around to make sure that I don't fall over something and the faces stretch out before me.

A fleeting feeling passes through me, they are trying to tell me something. I have to figure it out before the Horsemen catch me. The hooves pick up speed and I pass Watson's face again, this time calling my name.

My side has been set ablaze by the lack of oxygen my lungs struggle to drag in. I'm slowing they will catch me any minute now. The faces keep repeating themselves trying to get me to focus on them then, out of nowhere, a new face appears.

I skid to a halt forgetting the Horsemen and take in the new face. A strange apparition, yet I've seen him before, deep in the farthest corners of my mind faces start to appear, trying to match with the face I am staring at.

But I have taken to long, the thudding hooves strike cobblestone behind me and I turn to see three men with their swords raised. My mind races, what to do? They advance for the kill and all I can do is wait. They seem to be riding through mud for they are taking forever to reach me.

One last time I try to place the face and, like sand, it slips through my fingers. Now they are upon me, their swords slice the air ready to take my life. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I waken to Watson shaking me and telling me to breath. I gasp in air drawing it deep into my starved lungs. This action sets my side on fire once again and the breath hitches in my chest.

Watson delves into his bag of remedies and pulls out a familiar looking bottle. In no time at all the medicine is coursing through my veins and I can breath again. I relax back into the bed trying to gather my thoughts and find a way to explain them to Watson.

I turn inward, blocking out the world, trying to remember the face on the wall, but it's all shadows now. I instead focus on the faces of the victims that had lined the walls around me. Clearly I need to go back and take a second look at the bodies.

I feel someone's eyes on me and I come back to the here and now. Watson is watching me with his practiced doctors eyes. I speak up before he can injected me with anything else.

"What happened?" A voice croaks. It takes a minute for me to realize that it was me who was talking. Watson offers me a glass of water and an explanation. " I was with a patient in my office when I heard you making s ruckus in here. I thought you were trying to escape again and rushed in to stop up. But instead of finding you at the window ready to jump out, I found you tossing and groaning in your sleep."

I take a moment to reflect. I don't even remember falling asleep. We had been talking and I had just found out that someone was behind all this but I didn't fall asleep. Watson continues his story.

"I tried to hold you down so you wouldn't reopen your stitches and suddenly you stopped breathing. I yelled at you to wake up but it took a couple minutes for your sluggish brain to come around. You did and now here we are." He smiled a wry smile with the last statement and I could see the fear that had been etched on his face.

All the worry I have put Watson through this past week I am surprised that he hasn't put me out of his misery. But that is not the kind of person Watson is. He will keep putting me back together and not complain too much about it because he is a caring friend.

Not wanting to let his faith in me to be misplaced, I decide to share my strange dream with him. Perhaps he will see some meaning in it that I myself may have overlooked. I decide to start at the very beginning.

I explain it all to him: the horses, the faces. I grow quiet once more as that last face once again taunts me. I try to pull it out of the shadows, bring it to the light but once again it eludes me.

Sighing I instead turn my attention back to the victims and what they might have to tell me. Watson see's the shift on my face and follows my train of thought.

"We didn't miss anything." He quietly informs me. Lost in my thoughts I simply nod my head in agreement. My mind betrays me however and I soon find looking for the common thread that links my victims.

We covered everything. They all lived in different parts of London. They all saw crimes but didn't report them, and of course they all worked… Where did they work? I had never got around to that question.

I voice my question to Watson and he shrugs helplessly. "We never looked into where they worked because they all come from such different places.

My skin starts to prickle and my spin tingles. This is what they were trying to tell me, I know it!

"Have the Scotland Yard look up where the victims had been in engaged, contact their employers and inquire as to what they did for a living." Watson nods but puts forth a question. "Holmes, the question is, how do we stop them while they are looking for the information?"

That was something else for me to ponder. I pull deep into my clearing mind to search for an answer. My mind keeps coming back to one thought; we have to set a trap. If we can get them to attack a target that we select and have under watch then maybe we can lure them out into the open.

With more strength then I've had in a long time I sit up and look at Watson. "I have a plan."


	10. Chapter 10

_**I am so sorry this took three whole years to finish. However I do have good news! The story is finished and I just need my editor to, well, edit it. I promise you that won't take long! Promise! I want to thank everyone that has read or reviewed this story. I feel so loved! Please keep up the reviews as it is the only way I will get better! Much love! ~RoadkillHermes**_

In theory it was simple. We would give a note to the Four, now three, Horsemen with my name on it. Being the zealots that they are they will not question it and take no time in tracking me down. When they have me surrounded Watson and the men of Scotland Yard would fall in behind them and so would be the end of the Three Horsemen, in theory. However, what I had failed to take into account was Watson and the staunch position he would take on this. "My dear Watson," I try for the hundredth time, "I have already taken down one of their crew. If my name is not next they will suspect that something is wrong." He glares down the tip of his nose at me, "Oh, I see - I understand the logic behind it," he says facetiously. I see an opportunity to derail him before he starts another rant. "Thank you my dear friend. Now you see why we must go forward with this plan." His glare becomes daggers and I do everything in my power not to wilt under it. He booms. "However, you are in no psychical shape to be traipsing around the city let alone with three blood thirsty men chasing you. What, in all that you hold logical, makes you think that I would even consider letting you out of my sight?" I let my shoulders sag, not in defeat, for he has not won yet, it is from fatigue.

These arguments have really been taking their toll on me and, for the briefest of moments, I wonder if perhaps he is right. I shake off the thought and stand straight returning his glare, putting all my strength and determination behind it. This surprises him, I can see it in his eyes. To him it must have looked like I conceded the point and was willing to listen yet now here I stand more determined than when we began. I retort; "Then how would you have us proceed? Shall we allow them to roam free attacking wherever and whenever they chose? Or is my life more important than that of the hundreds of thousands we would put in dangers path? Have you forgotten that they have an army behind them? What shall we do when they find a worthy target for that army?" Fire burns within the words and me; pouring forth from some unknown source. Watson must have seen my unwillingness to back down for he fell silent, a thoughtful look taking over his face. His eyes, breaking their contact, drop to the floor.

A knock at the door draws our attention from the argument. Watson makes his way over to the door and opens it. There stands a harried looking Lastrade. I usher him into the room and Watson, without looking back, slips out the door silently closing it behind him. Lastrade quirks a raised eyebrow after him then shifts his attention to me. I ignore his silent inquire and instead ask a question of my own. "Did you find out where all the victims worked?" His face changes to that of triumph. "I did" he says triumphantly, "They all had various jobs working at Parliament. They ranged from a simple grounds keeper to the Head of the Watch." His chest puffs out. How proud he must feel of himself for finding such a trivial fact. Time to burst his ego. "Glad the Yard was finally able to find the information that they had been missing. Tell me Lastrade did the information fall into your lap or did you have to do some actual leg work." My temper is short as is my patience with the Yard. They should have had this information from the beginning. His chest deflates and a look of hurt flashes across his face. I ignore this and continue on. "So tell me, what should our next move be?" My words are biting. They hold an edge as sharp as the Horseman's swords.

I really don't mean to sound harsh and be such an arse, but my argument with Watson has left me with little patience. To the mans credit he does not let this phase him. Whilst bearing a continence of defeat, the cogs in his mind keep working. Would wonders never cease? Lastrade answered, "Well I couldn't help but overhear your plan with Watson and I think it's a grand idea." This takes me aback. How long had the man been spying on us before he had walked in? However I am not in the mood for apologies and groveling, for that is surely what this man would do if I unleashed my pent up wrath on him. "The Horsemen will not suspect a thing and the streets will be safe again." he states rather pompously. I want to point out to him the folly of such thinking, to show him the error of his ways but I am kind and do no such thing. Instead I pose him a question. "How, my dear man, do you expect to get Watson to go along with it?" Slowly a knowing smile spreads across his face. Perhaps I have miss judged him after all.


End file.
